


Tonic

by Poochee



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, DrugLord!Chris, Escort!Tom, Falling In Love, Hotels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Organized Crime, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poochee/pseuds/Poochee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He can’t keep away from the kid, either. Chris is pulled to him, needs to have him in his sight, even if he’s just sitting and reading on the couch across the room. He’s a comforting presence despite his fiery, flighty attitude. The fact that Tom is reluctant to be affectionate and close only makes Chris more determined. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonic

**Author's Note:**

> Finals are here, and with it, a lack in writing. I wrote this weeks ago, sort of in Chris' perspective, and decided to post it in hopes of keeping my readers happy. I'm so graciously overwhelmed with the positive feedback for Tanqueray, it's more than I could have ever expected! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you're with me until the end :)   
> Please, enjoy this sneak peak for things to come!

The past three days are a whirlwind to him, flashes of blond curls and pale skin, cold metal triggers and little sealed bags of white powder. He does his best to keep Tom away from it all, the nastiness of his life, but he’s so naturally curious that Chris can’t keep him away.

He can buy Tom gifts all damn day, take him anywhere he wants - be it a big book store or an expensive restaurant - but when they’re back in that hotel room, he’ll ask questions upon questions he’d been too cautious to ask in public.

And Chris isn’t sure how much longer he can keep his mouth shut. He lets little things flow from his mouth, passing comments that Tom soaks up eagerly with wide eyes and a soft mouth.

Distractions work for only so long. He can go down on Tom for half an hour and he’ll still talk afterwards, boneless and pliant enough to cuddle properly without much complaint.

He can’t keep away from the kid, either. Chris is pulled to him, needs to have him in his sight, even if he’s just sitting and reading on the couch across the room. He’s a comforting presence despite his fiery, flighty attitude. The fact that Tom is reluctant to be affectionate and close only makes Chris more determined.

When he can’t sleep at night, he’ll wonder why Tom is like this.

He’s young, he could be free. He has his entire life ahead of him. He’s almost twenty-one, he’s still a baby. So much younger than Chris’ thirty-six. He still can’t get Tom’s smiling face out his head, those pink lips lifting out of that permanent scowl to smile and ask ‘ _really?_ ’ while next to him on the jet.

And then the next moment, he’s back to his quiet self, all happiness gone. On the surface, at least. Chris, despite his excellent people reading skills, sometimes can’t read the one he wants to read the most.

It’s frustrating. Tom is frustrating.

It’s been only three days, but surely he’s falling in love.

**

Tom stares off into space a lot, more than he probably realizes. Chris can't count the times he's glanced over at the boy and seen him staring at nothing, his eyes almost glazed over with his pink lips parted just so.

He wonders what Tom keeps inside him. What keeps him up at night. He wants to delve into Tom and learn him from the inside out.

Although, he's got the outside mapped pretty well already.

And when Tom's been spacing out for too long, Chris will kiss him. Gently, softly, nothing to startle him out of his trance. It's sort of like a wake-up call, a gentle reminder that he's here in that moment and not anywhere else.

It makes Chris happy to know that. But he keeps that a secret, something to keep him warm at night when he can’t have Tom next to him. Sometimes he can’t tell if Tom wants to be there or not, but when Chris wakes in the middle of the night to find the little Brit clinging to him, his face twisted into worry even in his sleep, he knows Tom needs this just as much as he does.

The comfort of presence, of something to have and to hold, even if temporary.

But when he gives Tom that little kiss, sometimes Tom will kiss him back. Sometimes he'll slap Chris, a look of anger or surprise on his face. Sometimes, he won't do anything.

And Chris will shake his shoulder. 

It angers him the same time it intrigues him. He just wants Tom to let him in, but he’s not going to force anything that should come naturally with time.

In the morning, just before six, Chris stares up at the ceiling, having barely slept a wink. He can barely sleep the night before a meeting, every little sound amplified and sending his nerves into a small wreck. He’ll usually keep a lamp on and read, or watch the news, or a documentary. He’ll try to take his mind off everything. He’ll call the rooms next to his and talk to his men, but that usually can’t last too long. They don’t sleep much, either. They patrol the lobby and hall, it’s their job, and Chris can’t keep them from it.

He’s alone, most of the time. Delving into his mind and going over plans until there’s an ache behind his eyes. He can’t trust sleeping pills, either. Walking nightmares haunt him between the hours of three and five a.m., reminding him behind closed eyelids that hell isn’t only a place after death.

But, having Tom with him makes it different. He can sleep, even just a little. He can take Tom’s sleep-pliant limbs and manhandle him, smiling as he hears his boy’s protesting whines in his sleep, until he’s comfortable behind the Brit. He places his hand over Tom’s heart and buries his face into the pillow near those golden curls, his face twitching gently from the tickling of baby hairs against his unshaven cheek.

He can doze, just like that.

And he chases the scent of Tom, the sweetness lingering on his skin. He buries his face in Tom’s neck and kisses the sugary skin, accepting the annoyed elbow in his stomach or the verbal warning he’s given. He knows Tom doesn’t mind, because if he did, Chris would know. Tom would make sure of that.

When the clock turns to 7:32 am, Chris deems it early enough to wake up.

He hates to wake the sleeping devil in his arms, but he does.

“Thomas,” he murmurs, propping up on his side, watching with an amused little smirk as Tom rolls into him, hiding in his chest. He hums, feeling soft little puffs of breath against the skin and soft hairs on his chest, “ _Es la hora del desayuno.”_

Tom makes this strange moan-whine sound, “Don’t…talk dirty before breakfast, Chris…”

And Chris laughs, loudly, and Tom shoots him a mean look despite sleepy eyes. “I said it’s time for breakfast.”

“Sounded sexy,” Tom mutters, a pout ready on his lips, and Chris smirks as he watches the boy roll onto his stomach, facing away from him.

“Tell me what you want to eat,” Chris mutters, counting the little moles and freckles covering Tom’s back and shoulders with his eyes.

The blond doesn’t answer for a moment, and Chris thinks he’s fallen asleep again, before he murmurs, “Grapefruit.”

And so he’ll get Tom grapefruit.

\--

The sun is just peeking into the room by the time Tom’s pulled himself from the bed, wearing one of Chris’ crisp white shirts while curled up on one of the two plush arm chairs near the window. Chris has pulled the other chair to sit across from his boy, catching sight of his tight, dark briefs every time Tom shifts his thighs a little too wide.

He’s gorgeous, even with wild hair and little tired bruises under his eyes.

Tom glances up from the table between them, looks back down at the large fruit platter before flicking his eyes back up again, as if finally noticing that Chris is staring.

“What?” The boy murmurs, and Chris admires the halo his blond curls make around his head when the sun finally hits them.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits freely, unable to stop himself.

Tom’s frown doesn’t ruin anything. He is incredibly good at pouting, and the brat knows it.

When Tom is busy cutting the chunks of grapefruit out of one half of the fruit, Chris takes his phone out and pulls up his camera.

The first shudder sound has Tom’s eyes flicking up, and Chris takes another.

“Chris…”

He’s got that edge in his voice, and Chris continues to push his luck, catching Tom with that infamous pout.

A chunk of grapefruit is hurled at him from that serrated spoon, landing with a wet little ‘smack’ on the front of his shirt.

His annoyance flares and he exasperates, “ _Thomas._ ” And places his phone down to pick up the ruby red little cube and pop it into his mouth, catching Tom’s gleeful smirk as he tips the grapefruit up against his lips to suck the juice.

**

His heart is still going a mile a minute, thumping against his ribs, but his cool demeanour keeps him in control. He has to be in control, especially with this life he’s leading. Especially now.

But Tom, oh, sweet Thomas. He’s quiet. There are no questions on his tongue now. He’s seen it with his own eyes.

The elevator is quiet as it climbs up the building, and Chris stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets, leaning back against the mirrored wall casually with his eyes trained on the boy across from him.

They haven’t said a word since leaving the meeting. Tom eyes the floor, not meeting his stare. Chris takes the time to admire him.

Tom is heaven sent, a little demon with a head of golden angel curls. His cheeks are always flushed, ruddy, but never as innocent as the way his lashes fan over the dark skin under his eyes. 

He's breathtakingly, heart-stopping, all aches and pains, never-gonna-forget-you gorgeous.

Chris trails his eyes from the sharpness of those cheekbones all but pointing to his pink, pink lips. 

A cute little Cupid's bow, red from biting. A little chapped against his own mouth when Chris finally closes the distance, but it's warmth, all heat as he tilts his boy's head back and slips his tongue inside that greedy, lying mouth.

Tom's hands, fine-boned for a violin or piano, grab at him and his whimpers make Chris' head swim. He gropes that young body with his hands, squeezing flesh and tickling the hint of ribs jutting from under freckled skin. 

He needs him.

Tom's laughter is music to him, a harmony of honesty, however brief it may be. It's a glimpse into the serious, tempered boy he knows and Chris takes all he can to uncover the real hidden carefully under the fake.

" _Estás a salvo aquí,_ ” he whispers, crowding Tom into a corner of the elevator, kissing his neck and wondering how many floors are left, “ _Aquí en mis brazos…_ ”

He knows his words would scare Tom more if he knew what they meant, so he keeps them tucked away in a low voice and in his second tongue. He can’t lie to Tom in this language.

Tom kisses him with searing passion, tangling those pink-knuckled fingers into his carefully-done hair, his face twisted in a way that only reads _pain_.

"Baby, baby," he whispers, breaking the kiss, pressing his nose against Tom's cheek when his boy turns his face, breathing hard and feeling suddenly too hot.

They go to the room, Tom's pinky curled loosely around his as they walk, and he presses his little angel-faced liar into the door. Tom pushes against his chest, his brows furrowed again, and Chris presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Easy," he murmurs, feeling those curls tickling his nose with every breath, and Tom relaxes. "You're okay, sweetheart, relax..." He’s like a feral animal, ready to run at any moment.

He takes Tom inside and undresses him, slowly, making sure to stop and kiss him every time he shies away even just a little. He doesn’t know why Tom is like this, but he knows this is what Tom needs, even if he acts like he doesn’t. Slow, careful movements coupled with heavy affection.

"Don't--" Tom cuts himself off suddenly, his face hardening again, and Chris pulls his fingers from the front of Tom's pants as soon as he hears the word.

Tom grabs his hands and pulls them back, his voice weak, "No, please..."

Annoyance flares suddenly, "You're not making any sense," Chris grunts in frustration, feeling his face crinkle with the feeling. 

Tom parts his lips to speak, but nothing comes out. He's trying to find words but he can't, so Chris unbuttons his jeans and slides them down his legs. Distract him.

He kneels down in front of Tom, pauses, and pulls down his underwear, too. 

Tom fidgets in his naked state.

Chris stands and begins to undress himself, but stops upon feeling timid fingers trying to unbutton his shirt for him. He lets him, allows Tom the simple pleasure of undressing his lover, those hands becoming braver with every passing second. 

It’s a trust. A mutual trust, building ever so slowly. Tom can be honest and Chris can try to love him.

He takes him to the bed and lays there under the fluffy duvet, holding him close, until they begin to sweat and Tom willingly buries his face into his chest, breathing in slowly. 

He can see every emotion crossing his boy’s face, for the first time. It’s a beautiful thing to see. The way his eyebrows move, one lifting a little higher than the other, the way the corners of his mouth move up or down or not at all. The way his eyes look, soft and vulnerable.

Chris kisses him, slowly, with no tongue. Just lips against lips, sometimes parting, but Chris doesn’t want sex. He wants to lay here with Tom, to hold him and know that they are both okay.

Time passes, and his eyes begin to droop. Tom looks far from sleepy.

"'m going to sleep," Chris murmurs into his angel's hair, eyes already closed, his voice thick.

Tom just draws patterns into his back with his fingertip, his arm draped over Chris' waist, with no real hold. Just resting. It’s easy. Light.

He falls asleep feeling Tom trace 'safe' into his skin.

**


End file.
